My life as a paranormal investigator has led me to believe things that people wouldn’t even dream of. My love for this very unprecedented hobby-turned-job made of what only people would imagine as a movie genre, which is as a matter-of-fact very real, started as a motto of “facing your fears” kind of thing.
To be honest, up until I was 15 I was scared of the dark and for a very good reason. I don’t know if it was me or what, but there was something very unsettling about the lack of light. Everything evil or demonic always seems to be related with the dark.
Ever since I was young, I always heard voices; voices that were hard to distinguish from slight murmurs or whispers, but enough to make out what they, or should I say it said.
The voices were near hypnotizing, I say near but once I wandered off three kilometers into the woods searching for them to the point where my parents had to bring a whole troop of police officers to find me.
But I made a whole career out of the very event that almost caused me great harm, and I am not turning back now. My parents thought I was blabbering gibberish when I told them that these events happened to me and I was also ridiculed at school for my supposed lack of common sense.
In a quest personal vendetta and a chance to prove everyone else wrong, I took criminology and diverted into occult sciences.
Seventeen years later, my search for paranormal activity has now been narrowed down to Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration Camp, Oswiecim, Poland.
I arrived at a hotel there and my investigation was the next day. I was handed a brochure by the hotel management and I was able to get some extra info from that.
I arrived there with some Polish officials, some media people and a tour guide. The weather was fair before the arrival, but the climate changed immediately. It seemed almost like a living entity, warning us to keep out, intimidating us. But we weren’t going to back out now. All of were completely committed, ready to put out bodies on the line.
As we proceeded deeper into the site, the area seemed to get even harsher. There wasn’t a single bird perched on the tree. Even the trees seemed lifeless. I could also feel the overwhelming sense of melancholy and foreboding.
We passed through the main entrance and into the railway drop-off area. As we walked the harshness of the climate also kept pace with us. The smell of rotten flesh reeked in our nostrils. The strong wind slowly turned into a mixture of sharp rain droplets and bits of ice.
We found the area that had all the barracks where the prisoners were kept. All the windows were shattered and the planks of wood used to construct the barracks were now slowly coming out of the nails and changing color. All the barracks were bordered with barbed-wire fences, which were surprisingly the only things perfectly intact.
As we were walking, the cameraman noticed a strange black glow coming from the last bunker on the street. This was the first sign of something we had so far; the others were reluctant on investigating but I persuaded them.
When we did enter, I changed my mind; but it was too late. The door which we had entered through closed itself even though there was no latch on it. One of the guards tried using his flashlight as a lever to wedge open the door but the flashlight broke. There had to be something going on because the flashlight was made out of military-grade wrought iron and the door was made out of 78-year-old wood.
When the brief panic subsided, all of us had more time to actually make sense of what was happening; one of the security personnel noticed that there was something under one of the bunkers which was glowing and had caused the black light that we had seen. I peered down below the bed; the book had a dark ‘swastika’ engraved on it. It was so dark I could feel my pupils expand making my whole eye black.
As I got closer to it, my vision got extremely hazy, the wind caught up lots of speed, and it felt like there was a mini tornado around us originating from the centre of swastika. All of us grabbed whatever we could to stay aground.
It got even darker and the book hovered above us, its pages flipping rapidly. Everyone except me started to lose control of themselves, their eyes completely black with wisps of dark shadows curling off the eyeballs. As their bodies were floating in the air, they started to disintegrate; slowly turning into granules of black powder before being sucked into the book.
The wind got almost ten times stronger and I lost my grip on the wooden bed I was holding on to and got sucked into the book. The last thing I heard except for the noise of the storm and my screaming was the book close and with a loud thump, it fell onto the floor.
The only thing emitting light was the title of the book and it read:
Written by Anurag Hubli